


Fate (or something like it)

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing on the doorstep of the Malfoy ancestral home, Harry wonders if it might not be better to simply turn and walk away. No one has noticed his presence yet, and if his dubious luck holds, no one will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate (or something like it)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt over on an LJ writing comm.

Standing on the doorstep of the Malfoy ancestral home, Harry wonders if it might not be better to simply turn and walk away. No one has noticed his presence yet, and if his dubious luck holds, no one will.

In the ironic way he remembers seeing in countless romantic comedies Aunt Petunia loved to watch while Uncle Vernon was out of the house, as he makes the decision to go back the way he came, the door opens, and a wan, weary Draco Malfoy steps out.

If the Malfoy scion is surprised by Harry’s presence, he is either too emotionally drained or too well-trained to show it. “Potter. Was there something you needed?”

“Yeah, umm – how are you?” Merlin, he feels like an idiot, all awkward and fidgety. Shouldn’t he be past this? Wasn’t that what being on this side of puberty meant?

Sensing Harry’s discomfiture, Draco raises a lazily sardonic eyebrow and clarifies, “You came all the way to the house where your best friend was tortured by my aunt to see how I was doing?”

This was such a bad idea, but Harry is determined to see it through now that Draco is here. What sort of personality quirk would Hermione chalk that up to? This isn’t heroic at all – quite the opposite, in fact. He cannot get the normally smug git out of his head, and so here he is, about to risk everything – his reputation, his friendship with Ron and Ginny – and all because he saved Draco’s life and now feels drawn to him even more than when they were young and stupid and angry in school. He’s still pretty young, and definitely still pretty stupid, but he’s far too tired for anger, and that emotion has no place here anyway. Not anymore.

“Look, I know Crabbe’s funeral was today, and I just wanted to see if you were alright.” He stuffs his hands into his robe pockets to hide the way his hands keep twitching, wanting to reach out and tangle in Draco’s silk robe – black, the color of Western mourning even in the Wizarding world – and feels Draco’s Hawthorne wand slide against his skin, the reminder of his official purpose for being here cool and smooth. His own wand rests guiltily in the back pocket of his jeans. Somewhere in Britain, he suspects that Mad-Eye Moody is rolling over in his grave.

Rather than mocking him for his show of sentimentality, Draco stares at him, not in wariness, but in calculation. When he asks, “Why do you care, Potter?” he does not sound challenging or caustic. He truly wishes to know, and Harry begins to feel the first signs of hope that perhaps Draco has sensed the shift in their relationship as well. They saved each other’s lives during the war, and there is no way to undo that – nor would they, given the chance. However, the last time the two of them saw each other was at the trial for Lucius, and he had not been sure until now that he would be welcome, his success in absolving Draco and Narcissa notwithstanding.

Running a hand through his already chaotic hair, Harry admits, “I don’t know, Draco. I just… do.” Hell. He wasn’t supposed to let that slip just yet, but his mouth has disconnected from his brain, a problem he runs into with rather concerning – and frustrating – regularity.

Draco tilts his head to the side, considering him once more. At last, he comes to a decision and steps aside, holding his hand out in invitation. “Come in, Harry.”

Harry gives into the inevitable.


End file.
